Stories tagged surrealism

An Insurrection (revised)

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I started to speak in tongues, some would say uttered nonsensical sound poetry. People would tell me to speak clearly and try to make sense. The deterioration of my “normal” style of reputedly “enigmatic” yet “compelling” communication skills

My Own Worst Enemy (revised)

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There was so much to overcome after a childhood of hiding self-loathing and panic under pillows, so much to do to make up for loss: the pursuit of a generous fan club, which entailed the cultivation of an opaque, John Galt persona, a larger than life self

The Piper at the Gates of Dawn

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The fat man got up, yawned, his large mouth exhaling tiny, perfect pigs, which then flew away, their golden wings beating desperately. He walked over to Sid, and took his hand in his pulpy, fleshy palm. Sid recoiled, loathing this touch, and looked at the

Happy Holidays!

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Bobo opened his mouth, sang, "Hark the Herald Angels sing," till I placed my hand over his tiny lips. "I hate that hymn. I hate Christmas and all those angloid things," I exclaimed, fiercely. "I want another planet real bad I want it. Stop drooling all ov

The Philosophers' Problems

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The day the thinking factory imploded everyone for miles knew there was a problem. The sound of the walls crumbling in upon themselves was heard for miles, or perhaps it wasn't.

White Pierre, Part One

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“And there she was, with this old man, seated on a picnic blanket. They were tossing a giant beetle back and forth, and the thing was squirming and hissing. A giant beetle, I tell you. The size of a small dog. They couldn’t see me, or hear me whe

Mystical Food Poisoning

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oh god/ oh captain crunch/ how did you divvy up my flimsy soul?/ what have I done to deserve/ this silly putty brand of torture?

Just Like Magic - by Arlene Ang and Meg Pokrass

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He was happiness incarnate—with large magic breasts, that was true.

stinking nightgown

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Frank says if I eat the whole bowl of live crickets he’ll give me five dollars and his grandfather’s silver bullet from the war.


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It wasn't until about 2:30 that my hairpiece began mauling small children.

From Beyond

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Someday they'll find me face-down in a puddle of ink.


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He banged it on the leather chair and screamed like this... "fukfukfukeeeeeeee!"


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"They called him a syllannibal: a person who eats his own words. The only words he ever ate, however, were the ones he had written."

Clab's Craws

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I realized something must be terribly wrong.

Oaxaca Dreamland

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She thinks she trusts this man; she wants to trust him. His face reminds her of a man who once took care of her on an airplane when she was a kid traveling by herself.